Journal Entries
by ComtesseDeChagny
Summary: Harley's journal entries and the events that led her to her unraveling.  Rated T because of Joker. R&R, but only if you want to.
1. Prologue

**Just a nice, short oneshot about Harley trying to get into the Joker's head. Enjoy!**

9/13/10

He's an enigma.

An unsolvable riddle.

Just when I think I've made progress, he does something completely unpredictable… even for him. Yet, you would think, as time passes, that a pattern would start to form.

But I have observed his behavior and his actions very closely and analyzed them more times than you could imagine, and he's completely… is random the right word? Somehow I have the feeling it's not.

Somehow, I have the feeling that there is no proper way to describe or define him, just like how all of his other psychologists can't put a name on his brand of insanity.

And maybe there isn't one.

Maybe the answer is that there's no answer.

9/24/10

For him, the world is just there, his own little plaything.

He likes to cause trouble but not for any of the normal reasons: revenge, money, power, etc. I think it's just entertaining for him to watch the world burn at his hands.

10/5/10

I'd like to think that there's a shred of humanity somewhere deep inside of him, waiting to be salvaged. But the logical part of me doubts it. He's so radically different from everyone else, not even an inkling of a conscience.

10/17/10

Everyone views him as a terrible, horrible piece of scum that shouldn't even exist. But what if the reason he's doing this is to prove that everybody else is just putting on a façade and that they are truly no better than he is?

10/31/10

Maybe he's just being honest, just showing them that they're all hypocrites.

Every.

Last.

One.

Maybe his way of thinking isn't so radical after all.

Dr. Harley Quinn

**So, reviews are good. Did you like it? Do you have ways I could improve it? Did you think it was the best oneshot you've ever read (ha!)? Anyways, I will love you forever and always if you let me know by clicking that little blue link right below this that says review. Come on, you know you want to. [/shameless begging] :D**


	2. September 13, 2010

**So... anyways, I decided to continue this story. Basically, I'll stick to the journal entry dates, with a bit of plot in between each so it makes it more connected. I'm really excited about this, but with the holidays and midterms coming up, I may be hard-pressed to update. I will try my best, but schoolwork will always come over writing. Anyhoo, hope you enjoy, and if you have any ideas about how I could improve this chapter, or what you liked about it, please click that little review button. :D**

9/13/10

With a semi-frustrated last glance at the thick white door separating her from her worst nightmare, Dr. Harleen Quinzel walked briskly towards her office, which was (thankfully) far away from the Maximum Security ward. Reaching her office, she plopped in the worn, peeling leather chair that her less harmful patients would sit in for their psychotherapy sessions. Her mind was ablaze with thoughts and questions from the session she had just had 5 minutes ago. She shook her head and sighed. Why on earth had she agreed to take on the Joker as a patient? Hadn' t all those other doctors she had seen storming out of the place, some steaming and others sobbing, been enough of a deterrent? Did she truly think she could ever "cure" him? She absentmindedly peeled back more of the leather covering to reveal the somber gray fabric underneath. Curing the Joker would definitely bring in more money. And they needed it. The asylum was in desperate need of repair, what with chipping and cracking walls and the outdated security systems that they had. It was surprising that there hadn't already been a security breach.

After taking a few minutes to think over all that, Harley dejectedly got up and walked over to her desk, where she picked up the rather hefty file she had so haphazardly dropped there moments before. She flipped to her last page of notes and started to jot down some of the details of what had happened at her latest session with the psychopathic murderer, as well as her thoughts. As she finished, she reflected. Nothing he ever said made much sense. After going to grad school for psychology, she thought she'd read about every kind of mental illness or disorder known to man. She had been very naïve, but willing and smart, which was how she had landed the position at Arkham at the tender age of 27. As of now, she had worked with more patients and had more successful results than any other middle-aged, balding "doctor" in that crumbling establishment, including Jeremiah Arkham. Which, of course, gained her many popularity points.

She sighed again, this time pushing her chestnut curls back into a pony tail. She hadn't a clue what possessed her to let down her hair. Something the Joker said probably prompted her. She shuddered. For the most part, she was in control of how the sessions went, and had certainly gotten more out of the Joker than any other doctor, but there were brief, hazy lapses where she felt herself losing the control, as though she was the patient and he was the doctor. It was unnerving to say the least. With that, she jotted down a quick postscript to her thoughts, and locked the file away in her desk. Just as she was finishing packing up, she heard the door squeak open. Thinking it was Arkham barging in as usual to chat about the results of her latest session, she said tiredly, "I'll be out in a minute, Jeremiah."

"Jeremiah… hmm… At least, uh, that's an improvement over… uh, John Doe, was it?"

Everything in her hands fell to the floor.

Standing up slowly, she inched ever so slightly towards her desk, where her emergency button and Mace were. Noting this movement, he lept over her desk to push her up against the wall.

"H-h-how did you g-get here?" She managed to choke out. He cackled with glee.

"Poor little sweet, innocent Harley. You honestly think that all the security guards listen to Arkham, and answer only to Arkham? What a riot!"

He almost doubled over in laughter, but all of a sudden, stopped, and looked her in the eye with a deadly serious gaze. Out of shock, Harley blandly thought to add "bipolar" to the overflowing list of possible disorders for the Joker.

"Now, Harls, pay attention and look at me. Look at me, damn you!" He roared.

She forced her soft, brown eyes into his steely gray gaze. "That's better. Now, I can't have you running about telling your, uh, superiors, is it? About this little jaunt of mine. Don't you worry your pretty little head, I'll be back in no time for our, uh, story-telling sessions. Now, I gotta go. Places to torch, money to burn and all that."

He leapt out the door with the same feral grace he used to jump over her desk, as Harley unsteadily clutched at the back of her chair. She opened the top drawer and pressed the little red button in it, then speed dialed Arkham. "Jeremiah, listen to me. I know you're in the middle of something, but this is more important. The Joker…he's escaped."


	3. September 15, 2010

**Sorry this chapter is so short. I'm not completely satisfied with it, so if I redo it, I'll change the title to say *blah blah updated version*.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except what is mine.**

9/15/10

_Private Notes of Dr. Harleen Quinzel:_

_It's been two days already and we haven't even come close to finding the Joker. Even with the help of the GCPD, we're screwed. I have the feeling that we won't find the Joker until he wants us to find him. Actually, I'm almost certain that's the case. Back when that mess occurred involving the death of Rachel Dawes and the explosion in the police department where the Joker's henchmen were being held, the Joker allowed himself to be caught. He wanted to be caught. It was part of his plan. But he's always proclaimed to be a man without a plan. God, this is so confusing. _

Harleen glanced up wearily at the sound of an authoritative, harried knock on her door. Then she hastily looked back down at her scribbled notes and quickly closed her private notebook and shoved it in a desk drawer, then cleared her throat and said, "Come in." Dr. Jeremiah Arkham, as if barely waiting for her response burst in, sat down in the chair facing her, and let out a long breath that resembled a sigh. "Harleen, there's something I need to talk to you about."

"Yes?"

"Well, you see..." Arkham avoided eye contact with her, seeming unsure of how to proceed. She sighed, reading into his body language and the situation they were currently in and gently said, "Jeremiah, is this about the Joker?"

"Well...yes. To put it frankly, some of the detectives in MCU think it's suspicious that you have lasted so long as his psychiatrist." He hurried on as he saw her furious expression. "Which is ridiculous, I know. But they think that... well, that you might have been, in some way, partly responsible for the Joker's escape."

She exploded. "How on earth could they think that? Not even two seconds after he left my office did I call YOU, Jeremiah, to let you know he escaped. How can they think that I would be able to help him escape? Why would they think that I'd want that psychopath to escape? This is moronic. Completely idiotic."

Arkham cleared his throat nervously, and coughed a few times before saying, "I know. However, they wish to come in and question you about what you were doing before he escaped and your little... encounter."

"Great." She sighed. "Just great."

With that, Arkham excused himself. Before he did, though, he said in a severe tone, "Harleen, I know this is upsetting and I understand how you feel, but if you explode in front of the detectives as you did in front of me just now, it won't help your case. Not one bit."

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind," she muttered.

As he left her office, she felt a rush of relief that he was gone. However, that was quickly replaced by irritation. We're working with MCU on trying to find the Joker, she thought. I even called Arkham as soon as a could to notify him about the Joker escaping. They should be talking to his guards and the security in here, not me.

Although... Arkham did have a point. It wouldn't look good if she let her anger show in front of the "concerned" detectives.

She opened the desk drawer she had so hastily dropped her notebook into and began to write again.

_You know, when I'm counseling patients, I use different methods than most of the old-school senior citizen doctors do. And my methods seem to have better results. Most of the time. I've made vast improvements with every single patient I've had. Except for this one. Sure, many of the esteemed faculty are surprised that a young, cute thing like me hasn't run out crying from our sessions. Please. I do have a backbone. But even though I've been holding out and holding my own, I feel my control of the sessions slowly weakening. It's as though…I don't know. I feel like everything I've worked for, every ambition I've ever had, is being made redundant and foolish by the Joker's reasoning. So far, I've been able to mostly keep the Joker off asking questions about my personal life like any worthwhile psychiatrist should, but recently… It's almost as if I don't know what to believe anymore. And the way he talks about other doctors… It's disturbing. Mainly because I find myself sometimes in silent agreement with things he has to say. _

_Scratch that. It's been a long day, I'm tired, and I'm probably babbling on about things that make no sense whatsoever. _


End file.
